


Good Morning

by rayenbow



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayenbow/pseuds/rayenbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a good morning, indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aykayem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/gifts).



> ily Queen!

Magnus awoke to a weight on his chest.

For a moment, he believed it was his cat, who liked to jump on his chest and meow incessantly when he was hungry and thought Magnus was sleeping too long. He was about roll over in order to dislodge him when he realized it was not, in fact, the Chairman. This weight was a tad bit too heavy, and instead of the soft fur-on-skin contact that came with his cat, there was a smooth skin-on-skin contact. Plus, whenever the Chairman did decide to climb on top of him, he usually kneaded at his skin, which was always a rude awakening.

There was, however, purring. Inexplicable, un-cat like purring.

He forced his eyes open against the too bright light streaming through his windows. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they did, his gaze focused on one Isabelle Lightwood. She was half buried underneath his covers, partially draped across his upper body, her legs tangled with his beneath silk sheets. Her chin rested against his chest, and she traced designs into his skin with the tip of her nail. They were Marks, he realized eventually, the signs for _Strength, Healing, Defense,_ and _Agility_ drawn on him harmlessly, the same way she'd paint her own skin with her stele. She glanced up at him now, catching his eye with a pretty smile.

"Good morning." The words were murmured against his chest and accented with a kiss.

He watched her, bringing an arm up to loop around her back. It was bare, unsurprisingly; Isabelle often stripped down to whatever cutesy bra and underwear set she happened to be wearing before crawling into bed. The thing was, he couldn't remember her crawling into bed. He'd fallen asleep alone, and now he was waking up with company. She must have been sneaky. He certainly wasn't complaining.

"I know I must've done very good things in a past life to get the honor of waking up to such a pretty sight," he said, quiet and subdued, still weighted by sleep and sunlight.

She smiled into his bronzed skin. The Marks she traced progressed upward to his collarbone. _Stamina, Balance, Recall._ "Suck up."

A sleepy grin tugged at his lips. "Maybe a little." He tucked his free arm behind his head, propping himself up so he could look at her more comfortably. "How was your night?"

She sighed one of her pretty sighs, one of those ones that could mean anything. It was a sigh that had also been used after a long day of shopping, when he'd presented her with a new pair of boots, and when he had to leave so he could attend to a client before they could get carried away. There was no telling what her next words were going to be based on that sigh. “It was long and boring. Do you know what we saw while we were out?”

Amusement filled him as he arched an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

“Nothing.” She let out a short huff that danced across his skin. “Absolutely nothing. I swear I almost died of boredom.” 

The hand he had resting on her back slid up to tangle into her hair, giving it a playful tug. Her nose scrunched up, but she didn’t object. “You’re here now, though,” he said lightly. “And I’m always interesting.”

“Not when you’re half asleep.” More runes were drawn with her nail, sliding downwards toward his ribcage. _Fortitude, Speed, Precision._ She gazed up at him beneath long lashes. Those lashes were a Lightwood trait; Gideon and Gabriel had had them, as well as Alec, and she did too. She wore them well and put them to good use, fluttering and batting them at the right moments to get what she wanted.

It helped that he found it stupidly difficult to say no to her anyway.

His eyes flicked toward the alarm clock on his bedside table. Bright green numbers stared back at him. “Nobody is fully awake at seven in the morning, Darling.”

“I am.”

He rolled his eyes. “You hardly count.”

She made an offended noise in the back of her throat, pausing halfway through a _Sight_ rune to dig her nail into his chest. “ _Rude,_ Magnus.”

That hardly bothered him. She wasn’t actually angry or anything. Angry, for Isabelle, was when she stormed out half dressed because he said the right (or wrong, depending on how it was viewed) thing to get under her skin. Angry was that time she threw a vase full of orchids at him when he called her a slut. (That, though, was something said in the heat of an argument, and something he regretted almost immediately. He’d spent a week attempting to make it up to her before she finally forgave him.) Right now, she was just mildly ruffled.

“I just mean,” he amended in tired tones, “that you’ve been conditioned to wake up at seven AM. Whereas I, on the other hand, have been waking up at eleven in the morning for the past four decades.”

She chose to ignore that. “You’re no fun when you’re half asleep.” Wearing a sly smile that immediately made him suspicious, she slid her hand down his chest, nails scraping skin, and across his flat stomach. Fingers wound into her thick hair, tightening their grip only a little, before slim, scarred fingers disappeared beneath the covers and wrapped around his cock.

His breath left him in a little huff, and she placed grinning kisses against his chest and ribcage. Eyes fluttering shut, hips jerking with every stroke, he laid back and allowed her to work her own personal magic.


End file.
